


Nothing Ever Lasts Forever

by CowboyGoose



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Bad Flirting, Blow Jobs, Denial of Feelings, Enemies to Lovers, Fantasizing, Flirting, High School, In the form of pissing eachother off, Jealousy, Just accept it, Lab Partners, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Sexual Tension, ambiguous timeline, do not question it too deeply
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:54:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28943262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CowboyGoose/pseuds/CowboyGoose
Summary: All Steve wants to do is earn a good grade in Chemistry. Billy Hargrove, however, seems to have some big fucking issue with him, and is dead set on being as distracting as possible.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 11
Kudos: 71





	1. Chapter 1

Ever since the first introduction of Upside Down, Steve's priorities had drastically shifted.

Beforehand, his life had been a blur of party after party, doing anything to fill the silence that greeted him at home. Then, all of a sudden, Steve was shown who his people were, those he had to protect no matter cost.

As cliche as it was, it seemed that almost losing his life had shown him what his life was meant to be. The realisation that he had never _truly_ had friends was a jarring (albeit unsurprising) one, but one that he was better off with. He began slowly breaking off from the school hierarchy and finally feeling like he could breathe.

The second insertion of the Upside Down was certainly more of a shock, and four fundamental facts were thrown directly in his face.

One: Nancy is not in love with Steve, and perhaps never was. She had made that perfectly clear during that fateful night at the party, and then reaffirmed this once again outside the gym. It had stung his pride, sure, but it also _hurt_ , being dismissed as _bullshit_ without so much as a backwards glance.

Two: Steve is not in love with Nancy. This took a long few months of sulking and brooding to finally understand. He was in love of the _idea_ of Nancy, of marriage and the picket fenced suburbs and two-point-five children. It's a life he still wants, and quite desperately at that, but maybe that just isn't in the cards for him.

Three, and perhaps the most important: Dungeons and Dragons actually kinda kicks ass. At first, he had been extremely reluctant to have any sort of part in it. Though, waiting around for Dustin to finish up soon became tiresome, and when he was yet again invited to play, he eventually accepted.

By some small miracle, Max didn't like the game, so he wouldn't have to endure any mocking looks or ridicule from her brother as he picked her up. Even if they were beginning to get along better - and by _get along,_ Steve meant that they no longer came to physical blows - Billy was still an ass.

The forth realisation was somewhat humiliating, but one he had to have nonetheless: he was failing school, and _hard_. He had never been academically gifted but had always scraped by with a pass. After the stresses that last year had brought, he had completely fallen behind. Nancy made it all look so damn easy, but she had always been the smartest person Steve knew.

Regardless, _now_ he is entirely focused on his studies, because he _wasn't_ going to be some rich kid washout, and he _wasn't_ going to step into his father's shadow out of necessity.

 _Now_ , Steve keeps his head down, ignores the jeering from his former friends, and tries his goddamn best. English is surprisingly easy - all it involves is making up shit about feelings and talking about the weather - and his efforts are promptly rewarded when he is rewarded with his first ever A, coupled with a smiley-face drawn in red pen.

He puts that paper to the refrigerator door, ridiculously proud, even with the knowledge that nobody will ever comment on it.

Every other subject comes slowly, biology being next to click with a less glamorous but still hard-earned C. It seems that, unsurprisingly, chemistry and math just aren't sticking, though at least he isn't getting straight Fs anymore.

The days pass slowly, blurring into an indistinguishable mess of late nights and driving Dustin around like his surrogate mother. Day by day, nothing really changes, until he walks into chemistry class one day and notices that Dr Roberts is no longer there.

It takes a second or two, but then he remembers snippets of conversation he had overheard when he wasn't paying attention to _homogeneous_ _catalysts_. Something about ' _maternity leave'_ and ' _due dates_.'

The supply replacing Roberts is an old, slight man with the air of a veteran teacher, and upon Steve's arrival and subsequent hesitation, he points impatiently at where his peers are herded. They're crowded by the back of the class, besides the windows, and all looking profoundly unimpressed.

Steve inwardly groans, recognising this for what it was; the beginnings of a seating plan. A _seating plan_ , as though they were children incapable of working alongside friends. Though, Steve supposed, it wasn't as though he actually _had_ friends in this class. Pairing up with someone would prove quite difficult.

Quietly, he makes his way to the filing cabinets, and props his back against the cold steel. He crosses his arm and waits for the lesson to start. Eventually, the final stragglers arrive, and the teacher writes his name in large block letters.

"I'm going to making a seating plan." The teacher announces as soon as he finishes, turning to fix the class a stern look and abruptly cementing his place as _public enemy number one_. "You're all adults, you can put up with dealing with each other for an hour. I expect no complaining, is that understood?"

Steve rolls his eyes, slouching further into the cabinet. Most teachers gave up on a seating plan within the first week - chances are, _Dr Porter_ would be the same. Steve allows his focus to drift to a nearby window as his peers are paired up, resulting in a lot of _complaining_ despite Porter's previous instruction.

A class of sophomores are currently running in long, winding circles.

It isn't particularly interesting, but then again, nor was a group of seventeen/eighteen year olds acting like ten year olds.

" _Harrington_."

He jumps up from his slouched position, startled and embarrassed at the scattering of titters from his classmates. The tone of voice indicated that this wasn't the first time he had been called. "Sir?"

"Pay attention." The teacher frowns, unimpressed. He gestures vaguely to a table. "You're partnered with Hargrove for the rest of semester."

"What?" Steve says loudly, partially on instinct, partially from surprise. "Why _me?_ "

" _Fuck you_ too." Billy calls over, and wow, Steve can just _hear_ the glare. He'd forgotten how expressive Billy's voice could be when pissed off. Steve flips him off, and somehow, the teacher doesn't catch this gesture.

"Language." The teacher chastises, before turning back to Steve with a steely, unblinking look. "This is not up for debate. Stand up and move over to your new desk."

Steve scowls, but complies. He drags himself over to his new placement, a table towards the back - _great_ \- and sits down. At least he won't be alone in his suffering; the table was made for pairs to sit opposite each other. Steve just hopes it wouldn't be Tommy.

Billy kicks his leg, light enough to not hurt too badly but firm enough to make him startle. He glares as Billy leans forward, an infuriating smirk pulling at his lips.

"' _Why me?'"_ Billy mimicks in a pitched, whining voice and Steve bites his tongue, holding back an acidic retort. "And there I was, thinking we got along."

"We don't." Steve does not take his eyes off the rest of the class as they are grudgingly paired off. He notes with some relief that the people he was concerned about sharing space with were already seated.

"Well, _duh_. You made that perfectly clear." Billy notices that he does not have Steve's attention and kicks his leg again, this time with more force. Steve glowers. "What, is the great King Steve too good for me?"

" _This_ is why we don't get along." Steve hisses. "So just _shut it_ , yeah?"

Billy holds his hands up in mock placation, still smirking, pleased at having provoked a reaction.

Due to some unforeseen tragedy, the class isn't big enough for every table to be filled, and Steve's left wondering how he's going to survive this semester. He slouches in his chair, and pays attention to Porter's droning for a decent five minutes before zoning out.

The sophomores are still running, and Steve almost feels sorry for them; it's beginning to rain, and is quickly gathering momentum. He considers heading back early - Dustin would no doubt throw a hissy fit about his hair getting damp if he arrived later than usual.

Another kick.

Steve ignores it.

A pause.

 _Another_ fucking kick.

Steve slowly exhales, reminds himself that repreatedly bashing Max's brother over the head with his work book would be conducive of nothing good. He turns slightly to snarl, " _What_?"

Billy then grins, all teeth, somehow enjoying the frustration he caused. He leans back, stretches slightly, the movement causing his bicep muscles to flex. "Nepotism can only get you so far, _King Steve_ , so _pay_ _attention_."

Steve doesn't know what that word means - would sooner die than admit that to Billy - but judging by _who_ the comment was from, it's probably bad. He injects some venom into his voice, enough to equal the insult Billy probably intended, and snaps back, "I _am_ paying attention."

This was a lie, of course, and one neither of them believed.

He tunes back in to the chemistry lesson - goddamn motherfucking _catalysts_ \- and finds that he still doesn't get it. It's beyond frustrating, and it's as though some invisible block has prevented him from having it click into place. Vaguely, he senses that all the pieces are there, but it feels as though he's missing something critical, and because of this, he simply doesn't _get_ it.

It's not an unfamiliar feeling, but it's irritating nonetheless.

With the lecture portion of class over, worksheets are promptly given out. Steve reads the first question and comes to the understanding that, yet again, has no idea what he's doing. Billy's busy passing notes to a girl - not that Steve would _ever_ ask for _his_ help - and whatever he's written must be scandalous, because some of the notes her to blush a spectacular shade of red. He lifts out his textbook from his bag, the one that Dustin insisted was ' _like, super great, Steve, Mr Clarke told us to get it and he's never wrong_.'

The section on catalysts is lengthy as all hell, of course, but he takes a moment to scan over the entire section. He _still_ doesn't get it - feels _stupid_ because of that - but at least he's now able to answer all of the questions.

He resigns himself to yet another night of studying, and begins to write his answers. Billy is still occupied trying to get laid, so he's left with relative peace, which he vastly prefers. Halfway through the lessons, though, the notes stutter to a halt and as Billy begins to rush his work, it brings to light a new issue.

Steve is right handed.

Billy is not.

"Tuck your fucking elbow in." Billy snaps, nudging him with far more force than needed. Steve is half sure Billy's doing this to annoy him - nobody else has the same trouble, and it seems that Billy is fixed on taking up as much room as possible.

"Fuck off." Steve retorts. He's almost done with his work, but he knows with certainty that the moment he's finished, he was not going to quit writing and by extension give Billy the space he so desperately needed - doing so would seem suspiciously like defeat.

"If you mess up my writing, so help me." Billy threatens.

Steve, unimpressed and knowing full well that Billy wouldn't do any serious damage lest yet another syringe full of drugs be plunged into his neck, asks, " _So help you_ what?"

Billy scowls but doesn't reply, so Steve takes that as a win.

Eventually, Steve does quit writing. There's only so many times he can rewrite a paragraph without becoming bored. He begins to double check his work, but he doesn't have enough understanding to notice when he goes wrong, and eventually gives up, staring into space. Under what were now turrets of rain, the herd of sophomores have retreated, leaving Steve with no entertainment.

Inside the classroom, there's a low level of noise, but none of the conversations are interesting or distinguishable at his distance. Porter is hunched over a pile of papers - homework? - and overall rather uninteresting to observe.

With no options left, Steve settles for subtly watching Billy work.

The first thing Steve notes is that Billy's handwriting is abhorrent; small, ragged and sloping so far to the left it was as though the ink was trying to escape the page. He wonders how the hell anyone can read that handwriting, given how jumbled the letters are.

The second thing he notices is that, despite paying no attention whatsoever during the lesson, Billy's quickly sorting all of the questions. He makes it look so damn easy, as though all of this makes perfect sense to him. He has a calm sort of confidence to him, one similar but opposite to the air he has during games.

After this no longer holds his interest, Steve opts to stare at Billy's hands. They're strong, slightly scarred. It suits his rough handwriting. Steve knows how those hands feel against him - coarse, firm and unforgiving, often pushing at him or trying to bowl him over during practice.

Yet again, Steve is reminded of the fact that Billy is an ass.

He doesn't seem to notice that he's being watched, twirling the pen across the back of his knuckles as he pauses in thought. The moment he finishes, he's back to tearing out pages in his notepad in order to send notes over to the girl.

He takes his time with this one, seems to amuse himself greatly with what he's written.

This time, though, it's folded up and passed to Steve.

Whatever it contains, it can't be good. Still, despite his suspicion, he's curious, and self control had never been his strong suit. He takes the note, gently unfolds it.

_'Enjoying the view, pretty boy?'_

Steve purses his lips, scowls, and doesn't bother dignifying that with a reply.

This time, it's Billy who wins.

The worksheets are collected and they are dismissed with little ceremony. Steve is one of the first people out the door. He pretends not to notice how Billy lingers, eyes fixed on the girl he had been passing notes to.

He decides to cut homeroom and blow the next hour in the library, trying his goddamn best to make sense of the difference between _chemical phases_ and _states_. It may as well be in a different language for all the sense he gets from it.

He's able to focus for an underwhelming length of twenty minutes, then he's back to staring out the windows and daydreaming. Thirty minutes pass this way, before he decides to get a move on and swing by the middle school.

He puts his car in park and waits, watching the rain spill down the windshield. He leans back in his car, and waits for twelve minutes. The bell rings, and children race outside. Steve wonders at their enthusiasm.

It takes a few moments to notice Dustin and Lucas as they head straight over to the car. Steve frowns, lowering the window. Lucas offers a wide smile, one that was likely supposed to be charismatic but instantly makes Steve think that he's about to be asked a favour. He's proven right then Lucas says, "Can you drive me back? Mom said she's busy taking my sister to the dentist."

"Do I look like a damn taxi service?" Steve grumbles, but the line is old and worn, because they all know the answer is and will always be a grudging ' _yes_.' They've heard it before, they'll hear it again, and they'll continue to completely dismiss Steve's complaining.

Dustin takes his usual place in the passenger seat of his car. Lucas takes this action as a cue to ignore him, jumping into the backseat of the car. "Thanks."

Almost instantly, Dustin launches into the topic of the day - "Mr Clarke told us about _inertia,_ which we aren't really supposed to be learning yet, but we finished work early, so," - and Steve is amazed at how much he can talk without taking a pause to breathe. He looks to the school and notes that Max is still there.

He glances at his watch, then at the outside of the high school. Billy's late by five minutes, and even from a distance, he can see the deep scowl etched on Max's face. Steve ducks his head out of the window to shout over, "Max, get in the car, you'll freeze."

Max jumps at being addressed, then looks over to him. She hesitates for a moment before speeding over, not bothering to avoid the puddles scattered across the road. Steve mourns the cleanliness of his interior. Max takes the right most seat, crossing her arms.

"Stupid asshole's late again." She mutters to Lucas, causing both Lucas and Dustin to snicker. Whilst Steve certainly agrees, he makes sure to pointedly arch an eyebrow at her through the rearview mirror. She rolls her eyes, slumping against the leather car. "What? I'm not wrong. I bet he's with some girl _again_."

"He'll be here within the next ten minutes." Steve says, unconcerned. If there's one Billy is always punctual about, it's picking up Max.

True to his word, three minutes later, Billy's car rolls by. After a moment, the engine stills as Billy gets out of the car. He takes his goddamn time to move over to Steve's car. He's soon close enough for Steve to note that his shirt is rumpled and he's sporting a hicky that wasn't there the lesson before. The rain clings to him, adding definition to his muscles, and the cold air brings a flush to his face and the revealed parts of his chest.

"Stupid asshole." Steve mutters, because it's obvious Billy _knows_ how he looks in the rain. Max doesn't comment on his hypocrisy and simply snorts her agreement. He lowers the window when Billy finally reaches them and fixes him an expectant look. "Have fun?"

"Oh, you have _no_ idea." He swipes a lascivious tongue slowly across his lips, tilts his head slightly. Steve gives him an unimpressed look and Billy huffs, amused. "Why, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that you're _jealous_ , princess."

Max makes a loud gagging noise, popping open the door. Before she leaves, she spares a curt _'see ya'_ over her shoulder. Steve takes that moment to check up on the other passengers. Whilst Billy may have apologised to Lucas, the boy was still rather nervous in his presence, and was currently leaning into the door with a scowl.

Dustin is fixing Billy a look that the boy probably thinks is threatening. The effect is wasted, because Billy doesn't take his eyes off Steve, busy trying to make him as uncomfortable as possible. Steve's used to the treatment, and stares back.

After Billy's done posturing, he rocks back on his heels, and directs Steve a strange look. "See you later, partner."

For a few moments, Steve watches him leave, before he catches what he's doing and gingerly winds up the window. He checks to make sure the boys have their seatbelts on. Dustin starts fussing with the compartments, picking through CDs. " _Partner?_ Is he a cowboy now?"

Steve heavily sighs, and drives them back to their respective homes. Lucas's mom greets them in the driveway, politely thanking Steve for the help. Dustin's house is next. 

Steve then returns to his large, empty house. As usual, his parents weren't home. He resigns himself to yet another quiet night in, tries yet again to make sense of chemistry, and it doesn't really work. At least he's able to describe the difference between types of catalyst.

Eventually, it reaches a socially acceptable time to eat dinner. He sorts out a ready meal - _healthy_ , he knows - and props himself up on the counter. Steve's mind begins to wander as he begins to reflect on the day. Immediately, his thoughts jump to the chemistry lesson

 _God_ , he _hates_ chemistry.

He hates having to sit next to Billy, because he _knows_ all of the irritation he felt today was just the beginning. There would be more insults he didn't know the meaning of thrown his way. What was the word he had used earlier?

 _Nep_ -something.

He glances over the ready meal cooking inside in the oven, decides he has enough time, and goes to fetch a dictionary from the study. Quickly, the word _nepotism_ is found. The definition is less than complimentary, of course, but somehow harsher than he expected.

He returns to the oven and decides to wait for a few more minutes before his food is done.

Honestly, _fuck_ Bily Hargrove.

It stings in a peculiar way, knowing that he thinks of Steve as some hapless idiot. Though, this was to be predicted - he wasn't exactly sure what he had been expecting from Billy of all people. Perhaps something less scathing. Steve's not really sure why he fooled himself into optimism, but he quietly promises that he won't make the same mistake twice.


	2. Chapter 2

The next chemistry lesson arrives, and Steve walks into the classroom to find that Billy has already arrived. He's chosen the seat opposing to where Steve had placed himself beforehand, angled back on the chair. Despite how casual he seems, Steve knows that the position has been carefully assessed.

One of the things that Steve has picked up on is just how _performative_ Billy could be.

He decides not to comment on any of this, taking his assigned seat and pointedly _not_ looking across the table. Steve can feel Billy's gaze lingering on him like a physical presence, just _daring_ Steve to meet his eyes.

When he seems to finally understand that Steve wasn't going to play whatever game he wanted this early in the morning, there's a small, frustrated huff. Though, he does finally look away. Steve risks a glance and finds that Billy is back to passing notes.

Around five minutes after the bell rings, the chemistry teacher emerges. He takes a short look around the class and seems beyond unamused that the previously established rules had been immediately defied.

" _Seating plan_." Porter snaps, and there is a small, seditious pause before the majority of the class amble back to their original places.

Unfortunately, this brings Billy closer to him. He loudly scrapes his chair against the tiles as he stands - so fucking _dramatic_ \- and then slowly moves to the chair on Steve's right.

God, there always has to be some sort of _scene_ with that obnoxious asshole.

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and absolutely does not react when Billy leans over, close enough to allow Steve to pick up on the subtle, heady traces of cologne. Petrichor and something more illusive - a spice of some sort.

He almost misses the way Billy drops a neatly folded square of paper. There's an expectant pause, and Steve makes the grave mistake of showing _marginal_ interest in form of raising an eyebrow, unimpressed. Billy grins at finally winning some acknowledgement. "Pass this to Mary."

Steve narrows his eyes. "No."

"And why the fuck not?" Billy asks, sounds _genuinely_ curious, as though Steve actually needs a reason to deny him a favor. With this in mind, Steve shifts so he's turned completely to the board. From behind him, there's a sigh. "I wouldn't recommend you keep ignoring me. Why the fuck not?"

Steve exhales sharply, trying to keep his temper in check, but really, Billy makes this shit so damn _difficult_ for him. He grits out. "Because I'm trying to pay attention."

"Such a good student." Billy croons mockingly. "Are you always so well behaved?"

It's one of those questions that doesn't have a right answer. No matter what he says to this, there will be something for Billy to jeer at, so he goes for the safest option and snaps, " _Shut up_ , I want to focus."

"Harrington!" Porter barks, and Steve blames his months dealing with the upside down for the way he jumps. "Have your conversation during break, not during my lesson."

Steve mumbles an apology, ducks his head to hide the way his face burns. The moment Porter's back is turned, Steve shoots Billy the fiercest glare he can muster, wordlessly trying to send the irate message of ' _that was your fault_.'

Billy, of course, leans back, replying with a smirked, ' _I know_.'

The worksheets are distributed and Steve gives it a quick once-over. Most of them were definitions, which was easy enough - just recall. Next up are the chemical calculations, which are less than ideal. He's never been good at math, or algebra, or whatever the fuck this is supposed to be. He decides to use to colloquial term of _numbers_.

Well, it was _some_ progress, at least. He no longer stares at a question and wonders at when the fuck they went over that subject. He reaches for his pencil case, but just before he takes it, it's snagged from under his hands.

Steve feels his jaw twitch, and he glares. It's like Billy's making up for lost time over the term break by being as irritating as possible. "If you want something, you could just ask."

"Mm, don't think I will." Billy replies, plucking a pen out of his pencil case and tossing it back. At least he had the thought to close it before throwing.

Steve catches it with a scowl. "What is your problem with me?"

Billy holds up his hands in mock defense, acting all surprised that his dickishness is being called out. "No problem."

"Well, there obviously _is_ , if you're acting like-" Steve cuts himself off. Reminds himself again that despite the strange truce they have, Billy's still volatile at best. 

"Like...?" Billy prompts, and Steve's hit with the knowledge that Billy's _enjoying_ this, and _likes_ winding Steve up to the point where he snaps. He's not going to give him the satisfaction, and stubbornly remains quiet.

There's a disappointed sigh besides him, but Steve doesn't spare him a glance. He's made that mistake before, with the note to Mary - the one that was still on his half of the desk. Curiosity gnaws at him, but he ignores this, too.

Halfway through the hour-long class, Porter is called out of class. Steve decides to take a break - his wrist is cramping up from all the definitions - and watch the rest of the class descend into chaos.

Honestly, sometimes it's like they're all still twelve. At the same time, the twelve year olds he knew were pains in the ass, but far better behaved. His class uses the opportunity to leave their desks and head to their friend groups.

Normally, he would do that, though it's not as though he actually has a _friend group_ in this class anymore. He glances at Billy. He's busy tapping out a rhythm with Steve's pen, not doing the work or engaging with his group.

It's weird. If Steve didn't know any better, he would suggest Billy was going over his thoughts. It's not as though Billy isn't smart; Steve's seen the results he gets, has silently envied them. Billy's just restless, constantly _at_ something. Seeing otherwise is something of an impossibility. 

He looks away after a few seconds because as rare as this is - Billy being all quiet and _pensive -_ he would rather not get caught staring. It means he's given a few seconds of warning as a girl approaches them. Or, to be more accurate, approaches Billy.

She stands on the other side of their desk and starts with a truly inspired, "Hey."

Steve, despite himself, waits for the reaction. Billy simply looks up, raising an eyebrow as he slowly twirls Steve's pen with the tips of his fingers. Seems seconds away from dismissing her Though, for a split second, he seems to consider it.

Then, suddenly, he smiles, slow and sleazy, and leans forward, bracing his elbows on the table. Purrs, "Hey there, sweetheart."

Both Steve and the girl gawk, and Steve knows with a certainty he should not have that Billy isn't done yet. He's proven right when Billy wets his lips a second, then slants his hips just so. Steve's eyes trace the movement before he realises what he's doing, and ducks his head.

"O-oh." She stumbles over her words, audibly flustered, and honestly, Steve can't blame her. For some reason, Billy's pulling out all the damn stops. They're the kind of moves he uses when he's particularly interested. "I, uh. Hey."

Steve inwardly winces at the same time the girl outwardly does. It's not the smoothest thing he's ever seen, but he knows the feeling all too well. He was worse in the early days of Nancy, and had been mocked relentlessly as a result.

"So, what brings you here?" Billy asks, as though he's completely oblivious to the way the girl's looking at him. Steve then realises that Billy's going to drag this out as long as possible and thins his lips, agitated. He wants to get back to work.

"I was just wondering..." She trails off, cheeks a bright and unflattering red. "You like movies, right?"

This is getting painful.

Billy gives a low, soft hum, one that causes Steve to snap his gaze straight over. As though sensing Steve's eyes in him, he glances to the side. Raises an eyebrow, the corners of his lips lifting just barely. He turns back to the girl, and when he speaks, his voice is laden with innuendo. "I like the first halves. Tend to get _distracted_ towards the end. If not, then I'll do the distracting."

The girl freezes, eyes wide. Then, she edges closer. Steve's tolerance for this was already low, given the way Billy had already decided to wind him up. For some reason - perhaps her association with the main cause of his frustration - was somehow agitating him further. "When are you free? I'm good for... whenever."

"Shouldn't you be at your own table?" He bites out, terse, and _instantly_ regrets it when the girl somehow gets even more flustered. It's not her fault that Billy's been pissing him off since the beginning of the lesson, and it's not fair of him to snap at her.

"Right, yeah, I..." She backs away, embarrassed, and sends a furtive glance to Billy, imploring him to name a time and a place. Billy's interest in her has somehow entirely dropped, and he disregards her. When she walks away, she seems mildly dejected.

Steve tries his best not to bury his head in his hands. _Real smooth, jackass_. There was a better way to handle that, and he had chosen the worst possible method. Billy smirks, seems genuinely pleased by something. "That's a damn shame. She seemed down for it, if you know what I mean."

He phrases it as though she was the one who lost interest. For some reason, Steve's reluctant to point this out, so he says, "God, you're disgusting."

"Fucking _filthy_." Billy confirms in a low tone, all too agreeable. Steve recognises this as another thing he can't reply to without losing, so he remains silent, and moves onto the questions with numbers. Though, there's something in Billy's voice that causes Steve to try and sneak a furtive glance.

He's noticed immediately, because Billy's watching him do his work, tapping his pen against the desk obnoxiously. Steve gives a reflexive scowl. Billy simply smiles in response. "Sorry, princess, am I distracting you?"

Steve frowns. "No more than you usually are."

"Yeah? Want me to stop?" He asks, the flash of pink tongue swiping across his slightly parted lips, then gives a lazy grin. The sight of it sends a bolt of - of _something_ \- through his stomach. "Well, you're shit outta luck, pretty boy."

Porter's still not back. Steve glances at the clock in the centre of the room, then looks back to Billy. "We have fifteen minutes of the lesson left, and you've only done three of the twenty questions."

Billy rolls his eyes. "It'll only take ten minutes."

"You're not copying." Steve says. He instantly realises how much of a mistake this was when Billy raises an eyebrow, challenging, and carefully places a hand over Steve's work. Steve narrows his eyes and doesn't move his hand.

Billy hums, giving Steve an evaluative look before he pins his wrist down, _hard_. Steve winces, jerks himself back, but Billy refuses to let up even as he gets up to stand behind him. Billy looms over him, chest-to-back, taking the sheet from his desk.

He forgets how to breathe, becoming very, very still. In response to this, the grip on his wrist loosens to firm hold. Despite having gained Steve's worksheet, Billy takes his sweet time moving back. His breath is warm against his cheek, and he murmurs, mockingly, _"Good boy."_

Against his will, he shivers against the strange feeling of electricity running up and down his spine. He clears his throat, embarrassed, because there's no way Billy missed that, and attempts to regain some dignity. "Knock it off."

Billy simply quirks an eyebrow. He's back in his own place, looking over Steve's work but not copying. "Knock what off?"

"You're - you know," Steve gestures vaguely, flustered. Billy knows damn well what he's doing, despite his best attempts at innocence. Nothing about Billy is innocent. "God, just give back my sheet."

Billy seems amused by this. He taps his fingers against the desk, not complying with Steve's request. Though, when Steve reaches to take the sheet back, he's allowed. Billy pauses. "Might want to check seven."

Steve glowers, but does go over the seventh question. Instantly, he sees the issue - he had forgotten to pay attention to the molar mass ratio. It's an easy mistake to fix, just doubling it, but it's still a mistake.

He then glances back at Billy, who's watching him make the correction. He inclines his head and gives a lopsided grin. "Not just a pretty face, hm?"

"Shut it." Steve huffs, face warming. But it's _nice_ , in an odd way, asides from the obvious taunting undertones. It's the first time someone's pointed out the fact that he's _trying_ in school, and the fact that it's from _Billy_ of all people...

Porter returns, and instantly, there's a loud scramble of people rushing back to their places. He seems vaguely disapproving but allows it to slide. The sheets are collected back, with Billy somehow completing the work in time despite his earlier laziness.

More work is given out - homework - and Porter scolds the class as a whole for grumbling with complaint. The bell rings loudly, and the class is released with an explosion of chatter and scraping chairs.

"See you tomorrow, King Steve." Billy throws over his shoulder before approaching the small group gathering around the doorway. He places a casual arm around Carol, one that she leans in to, and Steve watches as Tommy scowls but says nothing about it.

Steve hangs back, not particularly wanting to be heckled on the way out. He packs his things into his bag slowly, hesitates when he notices the small, folded up square of paper. There's the same sense of curiosity, and this time, he gives in. It's not like anybody would notice.

He peels open the note intended for Mary.

...

It's fucking _blank_.

Steve inwardly groans, because he has no fucking idea what that means.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things are heating up cause why not, also hello to my main commenter @Wherefandomsthrive
> 
> This is where I begin earning some of those tags ;)

Billy's hair is growing longer.

Steve's staring, he knows he is, but each time he manages to drag his eyes away, he finds his gaze wandering straight back. He watches as Billy huffs, pushing his fringe from his face, only for it to inevitably fall back again.

It's distracting - hell, _Billy's_ distracting.

Part of him wants quite keenly to reach out and tuck back that lock of hair. Just to get him to stop sighing. His hair _does_ look soft, though. All blond, wavy curls. He wonders how that would feel against his hands, how Billy would react.

He looks away again, because he's supposed to be doing titration calculations. Steve lasts a grand total of three minutes before he slips up again. Billy's given up on sorting his hair out, quietly leaning over his work, brows furrowed. Eventually, he places his pen down with perhaps more force than necessary, and fixes Steve a glare.

"What?" He snaps, and shit, Steve hasn't been subtle about his staring _at all,_ has he? He tries to make his expression as innocent as possible, but he can feel the heat rush to his face, embarrassed at being caught.

"What?" Steve parrots, arms crossed, a little indignant.

Billy's not convinced. "You were _staring_."

"I was _daydreaming_." Steve retorts. To make his point, he turns back to his work, staring at the page blankly. Now that he thinks about it, it isn't the most convincing defense.

"Yeah?" Billy drags out the syllable for all it's worth, and without looking, Steve can hear the leering smirk. He looks up anyway, with his face as stern as possible. Billy barely blinks at the look, leans forward slightly to ask, "Anything good, Harrington?"

Steve narrows his eyes, feeling inexplicably caught. "None of your business."

"Mm, that's where you're wrong." There's something in his voice now, something Steve can't place. Almost, but not quite the same as mocking - a lighter version of it, but with a similar undertone. "It is my business, if it's enough to get you all flustered."

"I'm _not-_ " Steve instinctively denies, but the truth of the matter of very quickly evident when Billy just grins. Steve places the word that had previously alluded him.

Teasing. Billy's _teasing_ him, and he's playing into it. He kinda wants to push it, just a bit; enough for Billy to want to push him back. It would be a fine line to walk since Steve's considerate of boundaries, unlike Billy - this was made painfully clear with yesterday.

There was something electric with having Billy pressed up against his back, taking in his personal space, taking his wrists and pinning them down. It was like being exposed to a live wire, dangerously magnetic. It's a flustered, fluttering feeling, and it's one he wants more of.

He wants Billy to leer over him, breath warm against the side of his neck, arm wrapped around his waist. Steve ducks his head. The flittering sense is back, thickly coiled and commanding. He thinks of Billy's _hands_ on him, firm and unyielding.

At this, Steve makes a small sound at the back of his throat. Soft, hitched, and nothing short of _mortifying._ He scowls, inwardly cringing, and quickly glances over to Billy to see if he's noticed.

He has, _of course_ , and was now staring at Steve intently. There's something sharp behind his look, something that makes Steve want to look away, but he can't. There's a wry raise of the eyebrow. "You good there, princess? You seem a little flustered."

"I'm fine. Just tired." Steve grounds his jaw. He subtly brings a hand to his face, disguising the action as brushing his hair out of his face. As expected, he's burning up. There's no doubt he looks fucking sunburnt.

"Up all night?" Billy's tongue darts out to wet his lips and Steve does not trace that movement. Something in his expression must give away how off kilter Billy's making him, as the other slowly smiles, one that's all teeth. "Damn, I bet you were."

Steve glowers.

This time, he turns his shoulders so he's entirely faced away from Billy. His face is still flushed, and his stomach's still twisting in knots. It's a strange, novel feeling. He presses his left hand over his chest, as though he could settle his nerves this way.

It's a confusing jumble of emotion, so he ignores it. If, every now and then, he glances at Billy - his hands, his hair, his _lips_ \- he doesn't reflect on it too much. It's not important. 

This, as it turns out, is only the start of these weird, intrusive thoughts. As much as he wants to ignore it, to feign ignorance and pretend like he doesn't know what to call this sharp, electric feeling, he knows. He knows exactly what it is, and it terrifies him.

Each time, he decides to keep himself in check around Billy. And, each time, his resolve scatters like ashes in the wind. Steve's somehow _attracted_ to him. It pains him to admit this, that Billy has any kind of hold over him, but it's true regardless.

If he really thinks about it, he can pinpoint the moment it had switched from distant aesthetic appreciation, to something rawer, more demanding.

Steve's never been much of a thinker, or a ponderer, so he just... kinda accepts it, without fully acknowledging it. It's easier that way. Because Steve's not _gay_ , and this is _Billy_. He's still a bastard, no matter how much his brief introduction to the hellscape of the Upside Down had mellowed him.

Still. It really doesn't stop him from zoning out in Chemistry.

Now that he's aware of what he's doing, there's a sense of danger. If his gaze lingers a bit too long, or his face gets a bit too flushed, he feels like he's exposed. Though, a treacherous part of his mind adds, Billy hardly seems to _mind_...

At the same time, though, he's still passing notes to girls. Which solidifies the fact that Billy is also not gay. So, three times each week, for two hours, they would sit besides eachother. Billy would piss him off, and whilst Steve certainly wants him to _please shut the fuck up_ , the methods of _how_ Steve would get him to be quiet has changed.

Sometimes, he's able to actually focus on the work. These moments are fleeting and few between. Most of the time, something small and innocuous happens - Billy's knee brushing against his, or their elbows clashing due to Billy being ridiculous about the amount of space he needs - and just like that, his concentration is shot.

This time, it's the way Billy's hand is so close to his own. It's one of those rare moments where neither of them are working or reading or - in Billy's case - trying to pick up girls when they should be set on the worksheets given out.

As it was, Billy's hands were steady, but his right knee is jouncing. It's as though he can never be stationary, always needing to move or speak or do something. Sometimes, his fingers twitch, and he taps out a short, random rhythm, and it makes Steve wonder if he's thinking of music.

Thoughts of music and potential mutual interests can only distract him for so long, because Billy soon does or says something and Steve's immediately reminded of how much he wants those hands to rest on his thigh.

He imagines that Billy wouldn't be content with coy touches. No, he would roughly drag a trail up to his pelvis, dig his fingers in roughly enough to make him gasp. This, of course, was a _profoundly_ unhelpful thought to have in the middle of a class he was currently failing in.

Billy seems unaware of Steve's staring - either that, or he's noticed and simply doesn't care. Steve can never tell. He flexes his shoulders back to stretch. Such a movement brought attention to his chest, muscled and firm.

Again. _Profoundly unhelpful_.

It doesn't stop Steve from wanting to place his hand over the centre Billy's chest, feeling the heartbeat beneath his fingertips. Would the pulse speed up under his touch? Probably not. Still, it was nice to pretend.

He watches as Billy pauses at the graph and sighs. He stares down at the paper for a few seconds, and this catches Steve's attention, because he never hesitates doing work.

Billy peers at him, doesn't react to the fact that Steve's eyes have been locked on him for the past three minutes now. Honestly, this weird obsession of his is getting ridiculous.

"You have a pencil?"

Steve blinks, surprised both at the mild tone of voice and at being asked. Billy usually just takes. Part of him immediately jumps on the chance to help out. It's oddly reminiscent of him holding doors open for his dates, or carrying Nancy's books to and from class. All that chivalrous shit, the stuff that makes Steve feel good about being needed, even if it's for such a minor, inconsequential thing.

He doubts Billy would care about such actions. The thought makes him oddly displeased. Regardless, he pulls his pencil case towards him, fishing out the first (sharpened) pencil he comes across, then holding it out for the other to take.

He does and their fingers brush briefly. Billy gives him a tiny smirk. For a brief, manic second, Steve wonders if that contact was on purpose, that Billy knew exactly what effect he had on Steve. "Seriously? Faber-Castell?"

Or not.

He's both relieved and disappointed.

"Shuddup." He scowls, tries to make himself as unimpressed as possible, but he can already feel the corners of his lips quirking up in a barely concealed smile.

Billy shakes his head, mumbles to himself, "Fucking _Faber-Castell_."

"I'll stab you with it." Steve warns. At Billy's disbelieving look, Steve insists, "I _will_."

Billy just grins, leaning back, because they both know he won't. 


End file.
